Whereon He Rides
by Lady Nara
Summary: When Kagetora began to crack, no one could have been more supportive than Naoe.


**Disclaimers**: Mirage of Blaze is the property of Kuwabara Mizuna. This fic is non-profit.

**Acknowledgements**: Probably wouldn't have gotten around to putting this up if erah_haruna hadn't asked for something for Naoe's birthday. Title is taken from a poem by Emily Dickinson.

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Whereon He Rides

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He was crumpled on his side, limbs scattered gracelessly as from a sudden fall. Naoe checked the instinctive urge to rush over. Kagetora was breathing, though so slowly and shallowly that the movement of his chest was not discernible at first glance. He was conscious, his eyes open and staring. Naoe walked cautiously to the still form.

He knelt and cupped Kagetora's chin, turning his face upwards. There was no resistance to his touch. Kagetora's eyes were too wide, alive with a tension at odds with his body's lifeless sprawl. His eyes looked larger than usual, pupils mere pinpricks drowning in deep brown. Naoe could see them tracking, focusing with effort on his face. They stared at each other. Naoe's grip shifted and one finger brushed near enough the parted lips to feel the faint breaths.

He didn't need to speak. His eyes brimmed with a single, unblinking plea.

Pity shook Naoe.

_How long has he been lying here?_

"My lord," he said softly.

It was too easy to remember the times that their positions had been reversed. There had been so many occasions when Kagetora had held out his hand to him. His voice had been kind or stern in turns; the perfect leader, upholding his troops in times of uncertainty, rebuking them with honor and duty when their will failed. He comforted them in pain, urging them on to greater effort when flagging, giving them rest in his unwavering faith when rage and despair brought them too near to those they fought.

He was never so wearied that he could not recover with redoubled strength. He was never unsympathetic to the limits of his followers, though he did not believe impassable obstacles existed. Prolonged exposure to him caused his men to share that belief.

_Naoe._

A voice of natural authority. A burning glance that caught and held.

_Come. I will show you the path. Where this is none, we will cut a new one. Follow me steadily and we will make it through together. _

_Naoe! Don't fall behind!_

_Has the blood of Uesugi grown so thin? You dishonor your clan and your lord by your lack of conviction._

_Naoe. _He heard the whisper echo down centuries of darkness. _I swear it by my lord and father, Kenshin. I will not abandon you. Take courage._

The man before him scarcely resembled the lord he had long revered. Truly, the weight of the Yami Sengoku, which he had borne entire for far too long, had finally grown beyond his strength. The recent attacks had obviously targeted his family and acquaintances, as well as wreaking havoc among the general population. As of old, Nobunaga cared little for the lives of civilians. Unfortunately, it seemed that he had realized the advantage he had in fighting an opponent who did.

Gazing down compassionately, a flash of movement caught Naoe's eye. Kagetora's right arm was half hidden under his side. His fist was clenched around an object, apparently with the last strength left to him. Naoe carefully pried open the hand. It was nothing more than a scrap of paper, crumpled like the man himself. Curious, he opened it.

Jagged lines crossed the damp paper in a complex pattern within an uneven circle. The design had been drawn with such force that it scored the paper in places with small tears. It took a moment for Naoe to make out what the symbols might be. A bird. Two birds.

The Uesugi seal.

Convulsively his hand tightened, crushing the scrap of paper again as he looked back into Kagetora's face.

What kind of man was this? Here he lay, his flame nearly extinguished, and still he refused to let go. Awe, adoration rose in his throat like gorge, choking off pity. How many times had he fallen, only to be lifted by a single glance from this man? How many times had he strayed only to be shown his error by a word? Time had burned the sight into his mind: Kagetora's back, firm with purpose, leading the way; of Kagetora's eyes as he stooped down to Naoe, again and again.

The heat of humiliation was almost pleasurable in intensity, a thousand fireflies igniting an inferno.

It did not matter. This last show of resistance was nothing. Kagetora could no longer even stand, much less lead. The message in his eyes, though perhaps inaudible to anyone else, was heard clearly by Naoe.

_Help me._

A bead of perspiration drew a glistening path down Kagetora's throat. Naoe's nostrils flared with the scent.

"My lord," he said again. "You are exhausted. Let me help you to your chamber."

Naoe gathered Kagetora into his arms and lifted. The other man's head dropped back at the movement. Naoe made no attempt to catch it.

"Once you have rested, you will be able to return to your duty. Please, do not hesitate to entrust your worries to me. As your vassal, I will always be by your side to support you."

Kagetora struggled to raise his head, to voice the word trembling on his lips. He could do neither. Naoe shifted so that his head lolled awkwardly against Naoe's chest like a child's. Naoe did not look away from the too-wide eyes fixed on his own.

"After all, the army and the mission your father entrusted to you cannot succeed without their appointed leader. Everyone is counting on you."

With infinite care, Naoe carried his lord to bed.

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_finis_


End file.
